


Five Times Wick Sees Raven And Manages To Get Hurt

by Phalene



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Accidents, Cute Kids, Engineers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Heartbreak, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romantic Gestures, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phalene/pseuds/Phalene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an accident, Wick meets a beautiful girl for the first time. What begins as a harmless, unrequited crush quickly slips out of control, and soon, he just doesn't know what to do about Raven anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Wick Sees Raven And Manages To Get Hurt

**_I. The first time Wick sees Raven, he gives himself a concussion._ **

He’s idly chewing on a pen cap and mulling over design specs when it happens. As he casually makes his way back to Mecha after lunch, an open classroom catches his eye. The students are at the edge of their seats, paying rapt attention to Dr. Jakoby’s overview on celestial bodies. The intensity and focus they give the astrophysicist, who Wick remembers only for a mind-numbing monotone, can only mean one thing. This is the new batch of trainees, and it’s early enough in their program that they still feel the need to prove themselves. Wick snorts in amusement. They’ll figure it out soon enough.

When he finds himself dazed and confused, flat on his back and staring at steel ceiling panels, he thinks to himself that this must be karmic retribution, slapping him across the face for laughing at the plebes. God, everything hurts. Some nosy people start crowding around him, and one excited kid calls for a medic. He is way too happy at a stranger’s misfortune, so Wick mentally gives him the evil eye. Screw that guy.

Everything  _still_  hurts. And now it’s spinning.

When a very attractive face suddenly appears before him, big bright eyes looking down at him in a mix of mirth and concern, he’s startled but pleased. Meeting cute girls more than makes up for an embarrassing accident.

He’s always been a sucker for nice hair, and hers curls long and loose, a rich and nutty brown. Around her neck, a thin silver chain hangs free with a delicate metal bird. It is unique and clearly made with love, setting a sharp contrast against her grungy grey, standard issue jumpsuit. On the lapel, a looping script spells out  _Raven Rayes_. It’s clever—a raven for a Raven. Next to her name, tiny embroidered wrenches signify her profession. She must be one of Jakoby’s.

"Hey, you okay there?" She pokes his shoulder, waiting for a reply.

It takes a beat too long to process that she’s addressing him. Before he can think, say, or do anything else, a medic arrives and drags him away. He finds himself laid out on a gurney with an ice pack strapped to his face for the next hour, feeling more than a little regretful that he missed out on talking to her. All the while, the apprentices in Medical take great joy in poking and prodding him. They say it’s all part of comprehensive care, but he’s doubtful.

When he is eventually released, he covertly snoops through personnel files.  _Raven Rayes,_  originally from Mecha, eighteen years old, single marital status, emancipated at fourteen (there’s definitely a story there), zero-G mechanic-in-training, exceptional academic and physical scores. All good and well but it’s her official photo, taken recently upon joining the program, that he focuses on. She is clearly good looking, but it’s her beaming expression that tells him everything. In the image, Raven looks proud and joyful and just a tiny bit embarrassed. She looks as though she can hardly believe she’s there. Despite her notable professional success, she still has doubts, and Wick likes that. It means she’s still humble. Interest thoroughly piqued, he snoops further.

He feels a little creepy when he hacks the security mainframe and tracks her badge. Weekly visits to the Skybox for the past  _three months_. Always to prisoner #291: Finn Collins. No familial relation, also from Mecha, seventeen years old, metal worker (the metal bird is his handiwork then), completely average until a highly illegal spacewalk  _three months ago_  wasting two months of oxygen. Wick thinks back to Raven’s file.  _Youngest zero-G mechanic in fifty-two years_. Something in his brain clicks. Finn Collins covered for her, landed himself in the confinement, and risked— _is currently risking_ —getting floated for her. He loves her, and she probably loves him.

She is probably truly madly deeply in love with her boyfriend.

To say the least, this realization is… devastating. There is something crushing about finding out that his infatuation will never come to fruition. Squashed out of existence before it even truly began.

Wick just doesn’t understand himself. He knows that he shouldn’t care. He doesn’t even know her.

Still, he can’t stop thinking about her. And it’s pathetic, but he can’t help passing by her classes every week.

 

**_II. The second time Wick sees Raven, he burns his hand._ **

Bullets of sweat run down Wick’s face behind his protective gear. Like everything else on the ship, it’s older than he is, worn down with time, and stinks to high heaven, but hell, if it works, don’t knock it.

Without warning, a loud  _BANG_  goes off behind him, and the torch slips out of his hand. As it falls and clatters onto the bench top, the blue flame passes over a thin spot on his gloves. He jolts back with a yelp and curses at his clumsiness.

He hears someone clear their throat behind him and turns around to see the last person he expects standing at the door’s threshold.

Between the pain and the toxic fumes, his mind must be playing tricks on him. Raven Reyes is at the doorway, looking apologetic. It can’t be her. She doesn’t even know who he is.

 _”_ I burnt my hand,  _and_ I’m high,” He says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Here, let me.”

Wick startles at her low voice and sudden proximity. She’s really here, in the flesh, talking to him, and now she’s touching him. He sputters, unable to find his words.

He normally overflows with all kinds of useful chatter and quips, but today, he is all but hyperventilating. He feels so stupid. Ugh, he hates his brain. A pretty girl shows up and he falls to pieces.

“This is going to sting,” she says, and he nods dumbly.  _You’re so beautiful_.He winces at the pathetic thought and blinks back tears when she presses a hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton ball into the wound. She smears globs of pungent white paste onto the throbbing skin and tidily wraps it all up in a bandage.

“Thanks,” he finally manages hoarsely.

She shrugs it off and smiles at him. “I’m Raven, by the way. Mechanic.”

“Wick. Engineer.”

“I know. You work for Sinclair,” she grins. “And, I actually need a favor… I need his underwear.”

He blinks at her in confusion and snorts.

Only the slight flush high on her cheeks gives away the embarrassment. “First in the class,” she explains.

Wick’s nervousness disappears as he wheezes with laughter. Of course. As a punishment for breaking the curve all year, the top student in Mecha is always tasked with doing something stupid come graduation. Two years ago, he had been in the same position.

He had had the dubious honor of serenading their multivariable calculus professor, Dr. Mathilda Fortenberry. He walked into her last lecture of the year late, kicking the door open with a bouquet red roses in hand, and broken out into song and dance. Dr. Fortenberry was ancient, practically a fixture on the ship at this point. With pure white hair always tied back in a strict bun, she tended towards electric blue knitwear, high eyelet collars, nude hose, and practical black oxfords. She was a bit deaf and, when she couldn’t hear you, she usually squinted at the speaker through thick tortoiseshell bifocals that constantly slipped down her small nose. Over the years, she had developed a respectable reputation as a faithful widow and devout academic.

He’d expected her to either slap him in conservative outrage, collapse from shock, or pinch his cheeks like an adoring grandmother. As it turned out, Dr. Fortenberry had no such reservations, and throughout his whole performance, she watched him with hungry eyes and a predatory smile. After the commencement ceremony, she even pinched his butt during a group photo. His classmates mercilessly brought it up for weeks.

"At least take the man out for a drink first,” he teases.

Raven wryly raises an eyebrow. “Is that how you get the ladies?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I thought you’d suggest cheesy love songs.”

“What!” He laughs. “And why would I do that?”

“Mhm, I’ve heard all about your moves—”

“Lies! Lies and slander!”

“—what were the words? Oh that’s right.” She gives him a mischievous look before warbling, “ _You are… my fire. The one desire. Believe… when I say. I want it that way._ ” As she sings, Wick plugs his ears and chants, “La la la la la la la la!!”

“Stop, stop. You win!” Chuckling, he holds his hands up in defeat.

“Thank you!”

“You sure you can handle this?” He grins, already knowing he’s completely on board.

“I can do it,” she insists with a stubborn pout.

"Confident. I like it. Okay, whatcha’ got for me?"

With a sneaky smile, she whips out blueprints for Section A private quarters. He’s impressed; she’s going  _all_  out secret spy on this. Sinclair doesn’t stand a chance. He whistles as he looks over her notes. It’s not how he went about it, but the plan is clever and, with good timing, just might work.

“This is where you come in.” She slides him a colorful chart.

That night, while Raven crawls through the air shafts and tumbles from a ceiling, Wick gleefully stalls Sinclair. The normally mild-tempered man practically develops a tic and looks as though he regrets taking on his apprentice. He pinches his temple and, between gritted teeth, forces out, “No, Wick, I didn’t know that. How- how interesting.”

Wick nods with enthusiasm and claps his shoulder. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? As a Sagittarius, I feel so connected to my inner hunter. You know what, you’re a Pisces right? Let’s figure out what your lucky days are.”

Sinclair gives him a pained smile, and Wick almost pities him. Raven might actually be a genius.

 

**_III. The third time Wick sees Raven, he gets kicked in the shins._ **

Huffing and panting, Raven rushes in ten minutes late for her first Science Day only to immediately burst into laughter. She takes in the scene of pandemonium before her. Miss Amelia, the petite redhead who usually wrangles the littlest Arkers, is nowhere to be seen, and Raven’s partner is fighting them off in a losing battle.

“I’LL NEVER GIVE UP” Wick cries as a small boy unleashes a mighty war cry and leaps onto his back. High-pitched squeals and shrieks fill the room as a dozen ecstatic children tackle him to the floor.

He spies Raven looking on in amusement and waves in greeting. Lifting himself up, he directs the children in his best teacher voice. “Say hi to Miss Raven, class.”

“Hi Miss Raven!” They chime as they cling to his legs and swing from his arms.

“Hi class!” She sings back. “Where’s Miss Amelia?”

“One of the kids had—” Wick starts.

“Nico peed himself!” A pigtailed girl helpfully chirps.

“—an accident, so Amelia stepped out for a second.” Wick playfully swings the little girl around, tickling her sides as she giggles in surprise. “And left me in charge.”

Raven gives him a meaningful look and gestures around her.

"Hey!” Wick objects wryly. “I’ve got everything under control.”

“Teeeeacher! Warren pinched meee!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Crap.” Wick winces, and realizing his word choice, he winces again.

Raven snorts in amusement and pats him on the shoulder. “I got it, teacher.”

She scoops up the squabbling pair and gives them a good talking-to. She is firm but fair, and they hang their heads in shame. After the fact, she embraces them, pulling them in one on each side, and ruffles their hair. When Warren hugs her tight and promises to “never ever ever” misbehave again, she laughs and cuddles him close.

Warren totters adoringly after her, and it brings a crooked smile to Wick’s face. It’s… different. These kids, they tap into something different inside her, and like syrup from a maple tree, softness and sweetness flow freely from her.

It takes his breath away.

He pretends for a moment that he could have her, that they could be so much more. But then she smiles and subconsciously reaches for the little raven that always hangs from her neck, and the illusion is broken. Wick and Raven. Raven and Wick. Some things just aren’t meant to be, no matter how much he wants them. He decides in that moment that if friendship is all he can have, he’ll be the best friend he can possibly be.

He doesn’t realize he is staring until a sharp pain shoots up his leg. “ARGHH!” He grunts and bites his lower lip hard to stifle the temptation to curse.

Hands on his hips, “never ever ever” Warren glowers menacingly up at him. “Miss Raven loves me most!” He blows a raspberry, kicks Wick again for good measure, and darts off, presumably to woo Raven.

With an ugly grimace, Wick cringes and crumbles onto the ground.

Never ever ever again, his ass.

He limps into work the next day, and his coworkers are unsympathetic. Monty cackles and even Sinclair sniggers to himself.

“Dude, you got beat up by three year olds!” Monty chortles, clutching his stomach and rolling on the floor.

Wick socks his shoulder and mutters, “He was five, and he was big for his age.”

“Three year olds! Hee hee hee!”

When Monty finally calms down and pats his eyes dry, he drops to a hushed tone. “So what’re you going to do about… You know.” He waves his hands vaguely.

“What?”

"Come on, you  _so_  like her.”

“What. I- No-” Wicks sputters as Monty nods with emphasis. “What are you? Five?”

“No,  _that_  would be the kid that wailed on you. Zing!”

Wick shoots a dirty look at Monty and his raised fist. Worst friend ever.

“You know I’m always on Team Wick. I’m just saying… even the kid that wailed on you picked up on it.”

“He was big for his age.” He protests.

“Even the kid that wailed on you made a move on her.” Monty proceeds, ignoring him.

“ _He was big for his age!”_  He repeats.

Monty pats him on the shoulder, “Sure buddy. So what’re you going to do about her?”

"What can I do?" Wick fiddles with scratch paper and crumples it into a crunchy ball. "She has a boyfriend.”

“Not for long. Eighteen’s comin’ up, and the Council doesn’t just forgive and forget wasted resources.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Wick cringes at the thought. “Anyway, I just… have to get over it. I’m not going to go after her. That’s not fair to anyone. Liking her isn’t an option.”

"Maybe it’s better this way,” Monty sighs. “If this is you in like, you in love must be scary. I'm not ready for that."

“Me neither.”

 

**_IV. The fourth time Wick sees Raven, he traps his arm in a door._ **

No one sees it coming.

One second it’s business as usual, and the next…

The Ark spirals into chaos as Exodus rips itself off her and throttles down toward the Ground in a fiery blaze of glory. Critical life support systems shut down across all the stations, and lights blink out for the first time in 97 years, some never to come on again.

Wick is goofing around in Earth Monitoring Station sitting in for his boss, Sinclair, when disaster hits. Her old joints creak and dying systems rumble as she shakes all around him. He resists the urge to hurl when he tastes bile. Like a wounded beast, she screams out and lurches away from the Ground. It sounds like death itself, and reminds him of the ancient flood story for which the Ark is named. He can’t help but wonder if the last of humanity is being punished for its wickedness.

Wick is thrown violently forward, and when he slams against a table leg bolted into the floor, he clings to it with a death grip. With main thrusters offline, the Ark tumbles, tossing her denizens and raining destruction, until secondary power kicks in and the thrusters stabilize her once again.

When he finally feels confident enough that the Ark is done spinning through open space, he detaches from the furniture and immediately locates the nearest radio terminal. He flips the dial, tuning it to a main channel.

“This is Wick from Engineering. I am in Earth Monitoring. Anyone out there?”

For a long second, he hears only radio silence, but a crackling voice comes through, breaking radio silence. Other responses follow from all around the Ark. Thank god, he is not alone.

The few leaders still alive listen to the accounts of survivors and organize all the information. As one of the only uninjured engineers, Wick is sent off to manually open key hatches to maintain oxygen flow.

The deserted corridors and their flickering emergency lights send chills down his spine as he makes his way. He encounters countless bodies splayed out like boneless dolls, broken and bloodied. Just earlier, all these people were alive. They are friends and neighbors, acquaintances and strangers. They lived and worked together, and now they have died together. With little to no warning, their lives came to abrupt ends. Put out like smoking candles in the night. All Wick can think to do is close their eyelids and whisper the traveler’s blessing:

“In peace, may you leave the shore.  
In love, may you find the next.  
Safe passage on your travels,  
Until our final journey to the ground.  
May we meet again.”

The last hatch gives Wick the most trouble. His arm is deep into the exposed wall panel and digging through a bundle of wires for the right lever, when he hears a distinct hum and whir. It tells him that in two seconds, secondary power systems will attempt to re-activate itself, and more likely than not, it will fail. Electricity will momentarily shoot through the door, it will slam shut until significant physical force cracks it even the slightest bit open.

In those two seconds, he follows his gut reaction, pulls his arm out of the wall, and dives for the door. As expected, it crashes closed around his outstretched arm, and he finds himself trapped in place with his arm stuck in the door. Soon enough, the battery in the emergency flashlight runs out of juice, and darkness descends all around him.

He’s unsure how much time has passed when he sees her walk out of darkness. His arm has gone from merely heavy to hypersensitive pins and needles to extremely numb. The only sound that breaks the deafening silence is his own ragged breath, and the air feels thinner and thinner.

It’s the hypoxia.

He looks up at her expectantly.

“I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?”

She looks straight into his eyes and her bright eyes dance with laughter.

“No, you haven’t reached the end yet.”

Her red-brown locks hangs loose and free around her and contrast against the ivory satin and tiny golden beads of her dress.  _My angel_ , he remembers the first time he saw her. He was dizzy then too.

She kneels next to him and caresses his cheek. Powerless to resist her, he leans into her touch and whispers, grateful for her blatant lie, “Thank you.”

They sit together, and he swears that he really feels her there with him. Her slight form is pressed against him, keeping him warm and safe in his last moments.

He tells her little things about his life and little things he’s noticed about her. How she stole his breath away the first time he laid eyes on her. How she is kind of amazing with kids. How she glows with bliss when she comes back from space walks. How he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful in a clunky, shapeless space suit. He holds her hand in hers and kisses her knuckles, laughing when she calls him a sentimental. He knows he’ll never have this with her. He knows he’ll die here, all alone.

Pretending she’s with him though makes the thought of death less terrifying, and so he concentrates his efforts into poking fun at her with bad jokes (“Did it hurt?” “Did what hurt?” “When you fell from heaven.” “You are such a cheeseball.”) and his atrocious singing voice.

They’re at 55 bottles on the wall when he sees a flickering white light and a man’s raspy voice asks if anyone else is out there. A bright white light shines on his face as he thinks to himself that she might turn out right after all.

Maybe it’s not over yet.

 

**_V. The fifth time Wick sees Raven, she damn near breaks his heart._ **

Heat spikes rapidly as the world warps into a rattling, flaming inferno.

With the press of a button, the Ark plummets angrily out of orbit and re-enters the atmosphere. It cleaves into her seams, leaving golden, sparking fissures and ripping her to pieces. Wick gropes blindly for something, anything to hold onto. He can barely breathe as indescribable force crushes his body against his restraints. Oxygen is squeezed from his lungs; he can feel himself choking. Asphyxiation is inevitable, and just as everything begins to fade to black, the station slams violently into the ground.

Dust and debris swirl as light flickers on and off. A soundless humming overwhelms Wick’s ringing ears and pounding head. Even as he watches the others cough and yell out to one another, a minute passes before his hearing abruptly returns. He leans back, almost crying in relief.

Whorls of white float across sky. It all stretches out bright and blue, farther than he can see to kiss the blanket of emerald forest and mountain that rise up to meet it. The smell of rich loamy earth and the sensation of a gentle breeze are so foreign to him. As he climbs out the hatch, he feels himself unfold as though truly waking for the first time. Fresh air fills his lungs, and oxygen has never tasted so sweet.

When first Raven limps into the shop, Wick’s heart stutters. “Wrench monkey!” He squeaks in joy. He knows—has known—in the back of his mind to expect her, but she doesn’t feel real until that moment.

It’s clear that in a few short days, the ground has drastically, fundamentally changed her. On the surface, she is the same Raven: sassy, smart as a whip, and stubborn as all hell. But it’s easy to see the chip on her shoulder has grown exponentially. Like a hot wire, she is all frayed edges and sparks at the slightest contact. She lashes out at him, leans on him, and even shuts him out, but he takes it all in stride. Friends care for friends when they're hurting. He's not going to hold the craziness against her.

Still, his heart aches when he looks at her. 

When Raven bursts into the workroom, he’s almost certain she’s going to beat the crap out of him. Instead, she kisses him--rushed and messy and desperate. Overwhelmed with her, he can barely think. Spit-slick, red lips. Freckled, cocoa skin. He breaks away and gasps, “Ahh, this is-- this is probably a bad idea.”

Breathless, she draws him back in and orders him to stop talking.

He wants to be a good friend, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of her. But as she stares into her eyes, he sees a woman, certain of her desires, of her needs. He has no idea what comes afterward--a thought that frightens him--but right now, everything is perfect.

He trails his fingers along the curve of her spine and rolls his thumbs into her knots. Raven moans happily and wraps her long legs around his waist, pulling him tight against her. 

His breath hitches at the warmth. “This okay?”

“Yesss,” she whines. As he nuzzles her neck, she twitches slightly at the catch of his stubble.

“Sorry, haven’t-- haven’t shaved in a few days.”

“It’s okay, I like it. Feels good, and it’s fucking hot.” She strokes his rough cheek and kisses him deeply. Her tongue darts playfully into his mouth.

“I like it when you talk dirty,” he grins, deliberately rubbing stubble against her tender skin as he nips a slow path between her breasts and down her stomach. Kneading his fingers into her inner thighs, he looks up at her. “Let me take care of you.”

“I take care of myself,” she protests half-heartedly between gasps.

“Raven, let me take care of you,” he repeats, peppering kisses into her creamy skin. 

“Okay,” she whispers softly.

Raven has his heart in her hands… and she has no idea at all.


End file.
